


Of deliberate failure, choices, lost memories, stubbornness, and accidental openings

by CatChan



Series: Our best mistakes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Breaking Conditioning, Bucky recovery fic, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatChan/pseuds/CatChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He failed. No, not a failure... Sabotage, he had sabotaged his mission. What did he do now?</p>
<p>The Soldier didn't have a clue, but as fate and memories would have it, he still finds a way of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His head was itching

**Author's Note:**

> So as you might have guessed already, this is a prequel to [ Of alcohol, drunkenness, good decisions, mistakes, and Las Vegas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1270216) Guess you already know how it ends, but I wanted to smooth the creases starting with a post IM3 and ending with a post CA-TWS fic created. Enjoy all the hurt and Bucky feels and Steve distress!
> 
> Also, Mature tag is there because of Bucky's bloody recollections, don't hold your breath for sexytimes, there won't be any. (First chapter has **child assassination** in it, please don't read if it triggers you.)

The asset- no, not asset anymore, he had betrayed his handlers and deliberately failed -undermined- his mission, he could never go back to being the asset... Bucky? It was what the target had called him, but even though it left some kind of an echo, he couldn't make himself link that name back to him...

 _“Your name's James Buchanan Barnes”_. Maybe James. James didn't sound as strange as 'Bucky', but it was still not quite there.

 _“...The Winter Soldier, I heard he is after us. They say no one sees him, even those he kills! What the hell are gonna do no- thump”_ Soldier... Yeah, that one sounded better.

Less like chasing after Captain America's friend, more like what he'd really been, up to then, both as the asset and as _Sergent James Barnes_

Where did this come from? The target had not even said that!

...

Yeah.

So...

The Soldier, was, conflicted.

And wounded, too, but it bothered him less. He'd heal, he always did. And it was nothing serious.

Actually, he was already mostly fine, the mark had been pulling his punches. Or, like, not punching at all.

 

And there was that feeling, like something boiling under his skin, something that made him clench his teeth and tighten his hands into fists until the nails dug into his human palm and his metal one groaned under the stress.

 

_This something was what had made him punch the Captain over and over again, even though he wasn't moving and punching someone in the face was not the best way to kill them at all._

_This something that had stopped boiling, when he saw the mark fall down and sink into the river.  
But then his chest had became tight, and he'd felt like he was drowning right along with the mark._

_So he had done the first thing he could think of to breath again, he'd dived in and dragged the Captain to the bank. When the target had coughed some water and his chest had puffed up with his next inhale, the chocking hold on the Soldier's own throat had relaxed._

_The Soldier had stood there for a handful of seconds, considering his mission. He couldn't let the mark live and go back to his handlers, he hadn't remembered exactly why, but he had been sure something really painful would happen if he did._

_But there had still been this ghost hold on his throat, and he had known that it would tighten right back if the Captain was harmed again. He knew his fists were hurting more than they should, even the one that never felt pain. He knew that if he killed the mark, he would suffer. More than he would if he went back to the base without completing his mission._

_He had swallowed, and the motion had felt like trying to lift a truck, too much for even his muscles struggling against the pressure. Breathing was hard too, like he was back under that steel beam, pressing down on his chest._

_He had turned around and walked away._

_The ghost pressure had relaxed a bit as he walked away, but it still became heavier each time he wondered what he would do then._

 

And there was this ticklish itch in his head, like a mosquito bite, and no amount of scratching at his hair would make it stop. Normally, he would have just ignored the minor discomfort and focused on his mission, but he was the one who had made that mission up, it wasn't very time sensitive, and almost nothing was happening at the time.

He climbed down from his perch, and went to the closest city, broke in a drugstore, scanned the aisles, grabbed a lice shampoo, then, since he was there already, examined the shop for anything else he might need. The red backpack with a white cross immediately jumped out to him, like it was alight with neon signs. He took it, even though the red fabric made him cringe a bit for it's total lack of camouflage properties.

Once the red bag was in his hand and he was checking it's contents, it was like he'd gotten a clear mission. There was no hesitation anymore, he walked through, taking gauze, band-aids, bandages, compressive bands, medical alcohol, painkillers, antibiotics...

But then, something new happened, something he hadn't felt so far. He stopped in front of the razors, they were safety razors, couldn't be used as weapons, but he still felt the need to take it. So he did. He would wonder why later, for now he just knew he wanted it, he could get it, it was new, and it was warm, exhilarating, wanting something, and getting it.

He also stopped in front of the bleach. He considered it with more logic, changing his hair color was a good way to camouflage, and he almost took the box, but then he really looked at the blond woman on the picture, and the boiling came back, not as strong as before, just a slight simmering. The idea of being like that made him frown and his nose was creasing on it's own, so he left the box there. The feeling was there again, warm inside, he had not wanted something, and the something was not happening.

The muscles in his face pulled in a new way _smiling_ It was new too, but he liked the pull, it felt like his rifle in his hands when he was perched in a tree, comfortable and familiar, even through he didn't remember ever smiling before.

As he scanned the shop one last time before going, a little box caught his eye, it had a blond dog on it, and a bug circled and crossed in red. Curious, he unhooked the box and flipped it to read the description. It said it would protect the biggest dogs from all manners of hairs parasites for six months, ticks, lice and fleas.

The Soldier reflected that going through the woods, he may have to deal with those, and it looked way more efficient than the lice shampoo he took at first, and that claimed it wouldn't be harmful to small children. Plus, the shampoo didn't say it would protect against future parasites, just that it would kill those already in the hair.

The Soldier put the shampoo on the closest counter and took the small box with a dog instead. He was feeling better and better. _Choice_. He had choices.

He almost went to exchange everything else he had taken, just because he could, but he didn't have that much time, and there was no reason to exchange his other loots, so he didn't.

He was almost out when he felt like he'd forgotten something. Shampoo. He had left the lice shampoo, but he knew (even if he didn't know how he knew) that parasites weren't the only reason head could itch, there was also grease. So he went back to the hair section. There were lots and lots of shampoos, and he almost felt overwhelmed by all the choices. Some part of him wanted to take one of each, but it would be hard to carry, so he scanned the writings on the bottles and took one that claimed to reduce itches.

This time, he tucked everything tightly into the red bag, it was overfull and hard to close, but he managed, and went out in the street, locked the door he had broken in from, and disappeared again, like he knew how to do.

He went back in the forest, found a stream, and cleaned himself. At first only the hair, then he had the urge to gather up the foam and scrub down all the way. He had already followed his urges a lot today, and it hadn't felt bad, so he did.

Next, he took the box with the dog on it, opened it, there was a blue flask and a paper sheet. He followed the instruction, breaking the top part of the flask and emptying it in his hair.

 

Afterward, he dressed back up, feeling a little... _unhappy_ to put on smelly clothes when he was clean. A part of him was already planning another trip into the town to take clean clothes.

 

He took out everything in the bag, and reordered it, until he could zip it without problem, then he tucked the box, paper and flask in his pocket, shouldered the bag, and went back to his mission.

 

His mission: collecting intel on HYDRA. He needed to know exactly what HYDRA knew from his deflection. If he was still safe to go back, or if he had to consider them a threat and dispose of them, or if he should just disregard their presence and hide.

Present data was not really conclusive, but he knew the more he waited, the less he could go for the first choice.

His head was still itching.

He tried to scratch at it again. It didn't change anything.

He realized the itch came from the _inside_.

 

The Soldier gritted his teeth, and settled in his hiding spot. The itch was bearable, he had a mission.

_"James Barnes, sergeant, serial number 32557241." It was important. He couldn't forget. “James Barnes, sergeant, serial number 32557241." Important. " James Barnes, sergeant, serial number 32557241." He couldn't forget. "James Barnes, sergeant, serial number 32557241."_

_“Bucky!? Oh my god... It's me, it's Steve.”_

_He couldn't for... Ah. “Steve?”_

_“Come on.”_

_“Steve...”_

 

The Soldier shook his head, frowning. That... That was not normal.

His head was itching.

 

He concentrated on the comings and goings of operatives around the Hydra base.

His head was itching.

 

He scratched at his hair again, even if he knew it'd be useless.

His head was itching.

 

_He was sitting on the chair. “Sir, he's...he's unstable. Erratic. “_

_“ Mission Report. … Mission report, now.” The Asset looked up at his handler._

_“The man on the bridge...”_  
The mark looked at him, frozen. "Bucky?"  
 _“Who was he?” His head had been itching a bit, but he hadn't noticed then._

_“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” It was not it._

_“I knew him.” The itch had been growing stronger. He knew him. He knew him. It was worse than the itch, unrelenting._

_“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped this century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves. ” The Asset hadn't really listened, not orders, not important._

_“But I knew him.” He hadn't known what it meant, except that it was pushing in his head, trying to find how, why, why had_ 'Bucky' _sounded familiar, why he had stopped and looked into those blue eyes... Why?_

_His head had been itching, then too._

_“Prep him.”_

_“He's been out of cryo-freeze too long. “_

_“Then wipe him and start over.”_

_He had let the staff strap him to the chair and slip a mouth-guard in between his teeth. His head was itching, it was hard to ignore._

_A lever got lowered and fire spread through Bucky's head. He arched off the chair, grunt escaping him. The fire left, and so did the itch, the memories and the blue eyes._

 

The Soldier blinked. He wanted to be back there. To just sit and let everything bleed out of him. Be rid of the annoying itch, be free of the weigh on his chest, just obeying and not having difficult things like hurt and choice and decisions.

But he had liked choices...

Choices were still hard, though, he would like not having to make decisions, not hurting for his decisions.

 

_”The mark is this girl. Four years old, Caucasian, redhead, attends the Richmont school for prodigies, Swiss. Transport have been arranged”_

_The Winter Soldier had nodded, he'd gone, he'd killed the girl, and he'd came back, gave status and was put in cryo-freeze again._

 

The boiling came back. It was not going out, this time, but eating his head from inside, and the weigh came back down on him. He saw the girl's shocked face as the bullet went through her neck, severing a major artery. He saw her fall backwards, her pretty face splattered in red, the blood blending in her ginger hair.

He felt the emptiness that he had felt when observing this. He remembered watching for a whole minute, then turning around just thinking that the mission was complete.

The boiling was eating him, he felt like he should just die like that.

He thought of how he'd wished to be empty headed again because he didn't want to think, because obeying was easier.

He'd obeyed by killing this little girl.

He preferred to kill little girls than have his own choices?

One part of him was seething, feeding the boiling, and he had this double image of one him killing him violently, painfully, then look down at him with a frown. This image gave him so much satisfaction.

The soldier felt like something was crushing him. He was afraid, he understood. Afraid of going back and being told to kill this little girl again. He was afraid of not going back and not knowing what to do.

His head was itching.

 

He really wanted to go back to this base, let the burning cleanse all the hurt , and the thoughts and the itching.

He jumped from his tree and ran full speed, not knowing where, just _away_ from the Hydra base. He didn't stop, he was so afraid that if he stopped he would turn around and go back, report, and get wiped.

He was afraid of how much he wanted to do just that.


	2. Stubborn bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are twenty days away from NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month, that, as the name doesn't make obvious, is international), so I should up my pace quite a bit on all my works (I am not following the rules this year, so I'll write on whatever I want) in a bit.
> 
> This chapter was written in NaNo fashion as part of my warm-up...

Sam looked over at Steve, he was fairly sure the soldier hadn't rested more than twenty hours since he got discharged from hospital. It was pretty concerning, in three weeks, especially considering that he HAD been in the hospital in the first place...

But nothing Sam could say would have changed Steve's mind. He had gone headfirst into his quest, seeking each Hydra agent they could spot, interrogating, searching, studying...

 

And Sam understood. For all he'd told Steve he may have to kill Barnes, he knew he'd be just as frantic if it was Riley in Barnes' place.

 

So Sam didn't try to calm Steve, he just tried to help at his best, double checked Steve's finds, and made sure there was always plenty of food in reach of the super-soldier. He would have spoken up, he would have tried to get Steve to calm down, if he had thought it could work, if it wasn't likely to alienate Steve and leave in in the same position, but without support.

Sam was just here, waiting until the moment Steve would inevitably run himself to the ground, and staying as fit as possible to catch him when he'll fall.

 

He had thought it would already have happened, he didn't know if it was the serum or Steve's stubbornness he had to be impressed by. Probably both.

 

With a big inhale, he heaved the pasta out of the fire. Time to face the facts. Again.

It never stung less, looking at the bag under Steve's eyes, noting all the parasite movements, and slight trembles that told him Steve was on the verge of break-down. It was always a slap to know he had no choice but to... No, he had chosen to let it happen.

Steve looked up at him when Sam set his plate on the table.

“Thanks.” He started eating almost absently. Which was pretty impressive of it's own right, considering Sam had made spaghetti with tomato sauce, but if Steve could pull if off without smearing anything on the sheets he was pouring over... It meant he was just that good, damn him for always being so effortlessly good at everything!

Sam felt a bit bad for the stray thoughts, but he had long since admitted that being a bit selfish was not really a problem, and that he was not forced to feel bad because others were bad. It was way more efficient to preserve his mental health and be one hundred percent there to help when others were down in the dumps and asked for his help, than being down in the dump with them and unable to boost them up.

But he knew it took time to admit, and that telling Steve that Barnes likely not sleeping well in a good hotel room was no reason for Steve to not sleep either would bear no result.

 

He could just use subtle hints and pushes, Steve was not receptive enough to start deep heart to hearts. “You should sleep, you're no use to him stumbling with exhaustion.”

Steve looked up at him, blinking owlishly. “I'm not stumbling.”

“Can you tell me without a doubt that you didn't miss an important detail you could have spotted, in there, just because your eyes are starting to cross?”

Steve frowned, the muscle of his lower jaw tensing up. “I can still go.”

Sam sighed. Stubborn bastard. “Steve. We are talking of one of the best, more elusive assassins in ever.” He saw Steve jump at the assassin part, but Sam couldn't let Steve fool himself on that point, when – if- they found Barnes, it would not be the Barnes Steve remembered, it would be a Barnes who assassinated people at one point and got changed by it. “If you're not at your best while searching for him, you haven't got a single chance at finding him... You're not at your best Steve.”

Steve visibly deflated “You don't pull your punches...” He sighed. “Okay, I'll go to sleep once I'm done eating.”

Sam smiled, and went to pull the beds' cover, then started on the dishes.

 

Steve got to bed with a few grumbles about his ability to get in his bed on his own and about mothering.

 

Sam sat himself in Steve's place and started sorting the information they had gathered. It wasn't easy, and telling what was only relevant to Hydra and should be passed on to the special forces, from what hid hints on the Winter Soldier often stayed very tricky.

It was well in the night that Sam finally decided to get some sleep too. He had sorted a quarter of the stack of sheets into neat piles. They were nowhere near close to finding Barnes.

 

But if there was one thing fighting alongside Steve had taught him, it was that impossible odds was a flexible concept.


End file.
